Left behind to cry
by Shanowa
Summary: After the fateful incident on Azure, Obi-Wan Kenobi mourns the death of his love. Rated just to be sure, for language.


_**Disclaimer: Ok, ok...I'll say it: Like always at fanfiction, I don't own anything recognizable. This all belongs to George Lucas and his Star-Wars team.**_

_**AN: **Just a short fic... I'm not sure what exactly a Vignette is, but I guess it's something like that. So: a short Vignette:)_

_I struggled a bit with the grammatical aspect of the flashbacks. I'm unfortunately not a native speaker of English so it's always a bit of a guessing-game for me and I desperately hope I'm not completely off aim. If, then please tell me, then I'll rewrite it immediately. XD_

_I hope you enjoy it. Please, review if you find the time! I'd be so grateful for some feedback:D_

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**Left behind to cry**

Fading light invades the darkened room to disturb its two occupants. The pale gleam of a blue moon mocks the grief and sorrow radiating from one, it laughs on the pain while illuminating cheerfully the planet that never sleeps. But it cannot affect them, because they are oblivious to its eerie glow.

For them, there is only darkness. And in this darkness, therein lies the pain.

For one it's the pain from watching someone so close suffering so hard. For the other it's an excruciating, relentless agony pulsating through his veins. An agony which it is only possible to feel from loss. It's an empty pain, a lonely suffering. And despite the other one holds his rocking body in strong arms, tries to soothe the violent sobbing and the hardly muffled screams, despite the other being so close, he is alone. Utterly alone in his sorrow that hurts so much. Breathing is hard because his chest stings like he's been stabbed relentlessly right through the heart and there is a pressure he can't really grasp over his lungs. He gasps for air.

Nobody can feel what he does now, nobody relieves these memories, over and over and over again.

Nobody can feel that torn apart and survive, he's sure. It's simply unbearable.

His heart is ripped into pieces and the pieces are burning. The bright fire that has warmed it before has turned into angry, devouring flames which hurt him and kill him from the inside within the blink of an eye.

The blink of an eye and the impact of a blaster. It has changed it all. Has torn the familiar, comforting galaxy to cruel, empty shreds. His galaxy to shreds.

It's cold. So damn cold and he lies curled into a ball, his feet drawn into a fetal position that reveals never shown fragility and vulnerability. But it's easier to focus on the coldness and numbness than on the still bleeding wound that is the memory in his brain. He is a Jedi, he has and would release all his emotion into the force if not... would he not have banished the force from his mind.

He condemns the force. It has taken him his future as well as his past. It has taken him the person off all persons he can not bear to loose. The person who's leaving he would not survive.

He can see her now, can see her stunning face. The face of an angel.

Even if she herself would call it the face of the devil in disguise. And devil, she was indeed. She has stolen his heart so many years ago and refused to give it back, even when he begged her to release him from her warm glowing grip.

For years they didn't see each other and the pain had been lurking in the dark corners of his mind for a chance to jump out and torture him again. And it had. Everytime he saw her, a stolen glimpse, a holograph, the snippet of an old letter it has tortured him and drove him further to the breaking point.

And then, only months ago all resistance, every fucking restraint that was hammered into his head by the Jedi broke. The Jedi broke. And she with him. And they broke their oaths. Broke the code, defied the council, abandoned their duty and left their fellows when all they have ever lived for was at stake.

They gave in into their feelings and lived upon their love in secret in an selfish, selfish attempt to make surviving the war something bearable. To rescue each other from the suffering and the abyss that invited them. From the nightmares they were haunted by, night by night.

And when their lips met in the amazingly soft light of coruscant's nightly sky the flowing force never felt sweeter, the war never further away in the distance, their lives never more perfect. But they were being deceived. It was a stunning beautiful deception, a lie.

Deliberately blind to this, for them that moment felt complete and like it would last forever. A sweet, sweet eternity. A dream.

When they finally broke apart from the sheer lack of air, the world seemed indestructible, their love eternal and insufferably _good_. They both experienced more happiness in this short moment than they had since this insufferable war had begun. Maybe even since their birth. They were so secure there, on the roof, in each other's arms, feeding the hot flames of passion that burned in between them with bittersweet intensity.

They have experienced what it means to live only for this single moments.

And nobody had to suffer. It was fine, everything was fine. More than fine, perfect. Nobody seemed affected by it, there was no harm to anybody, then. Not even a distraction.

_The code was wrong, for once._

It was perfect.

But of course, it never was.

One insignificant morning then, they stood in front of twelve stern looking Masters which had sent them out to the front lines once more to accomplish a mission they have started years ago. And they met a long forgotten friend, a young boy, man now. Finally they got the chance to talk. And after long talks and in between desperate kisses they made their decision.

They would leave the Order of the Jedi. The war had raged on for too long and both had seen too many crimes. Too many blood flowing, too many battle and too much death. The bloodshed was no longer only caused by their enemies. Probably has never been.

The line is blurred now. Maybe it's not the worst thing that can happen to the innocents of this galaxy when the republic is crushed. Maybe the worst is this war. Perhaps it's all in vain. Senseless killing. Maybe their high esteemed republic, ruled by greedy hypocrites and ruthless thiefs whom's hunger for power is infinite. Corrupt. The separatist's leaders are not worse than some of the senators and governments of the republic. And the Jedi have not enough power to kick a little sense into them. Or the war. There are spread thin, weak in between too many battles as soldiers they should never be. And the council itself is in many aspects no better than them. They know it, just deny it, because they don't want to be like them. And yet, with every dead being they sink more and more to the level of Count Dooku and his companions.

Obi-Wan and Siri were, like every other Jedi, trapped in between battles, travelling from one fight to the next, always moving, always struggling, permanently injured somewhere. Utterly exhausted.

They were both driven to their their limits and then right over it. They have become what bothhad feared and loathed. They have become something they had sworn to rid the republic from.

The Jedi were no longer peacekeepers who protected the innocents and fought for justice within the borders of the Republic. Inside the council had become an unquestioned instance, an insufferable, powerful force. And they all had become soldiers. Even more like killers. Something they had never wished to be. Both had murdered and thousands of lives taken with their blade.

There had to be a stop to all this. It would have destroyed them both in the end, there is no denying at that point. And even if they could have taken it for themselves, they could not take it for each other. They had decided to leave before it was too late. And Anakin would find a stronger Master, a better Master that would suit him far better. He's _deserved_ far better. (Well, _this_ was something of an argument point, but not really crucial in the end).

And then everything went wrong.

Just as they had made their promises, everything seemed to have conspired against them.

It was just then, when the first shot impacted in the base. And while pushing the small fighter too its edge, trying desperately to reach the larger ship in which Siri Tachi had battled the bounty hunter, during that fierce fight of him against the low speed of the speeder and her to survive, he felt the odd and completely inappropriate urge to laugh.

_Now,_ _NOW! Oh, please, not now!_

When the ship impacted on the ground and fiery sparks were illuminating the sky, coruscating in a mix of amber and orange, his heart stopped.

A pity it started beating again.

He almost crashed the small fighter during the hasty landing.

He remembers the reddish leather of his boots reflecting the beams of the fading sun, burning crimson circles into the sky. The pale silver coverage of the still smoking ship coruscating brightly in the upcoming dawn and the sight of the molten, charred remnants of the cockpit have burned itself into his eyes.

Stunningly beautiful. And deceiving.

But it couldn't deceive the death. Just him instead.

The light brush of her cold, pale hand on his cheeks, gently caressing his whiskers has carved the skin. It's imprinted itself on it and he feels the invisible scars burning with his rage and blind pain.

The movement of her lips, whispering to him, urging him to give a promise he has never wished to make, urging him agree to her that he will move on, move on without her, has condemned him to this life.

The picture of her intense cerulean eyes closing brought him on his knees and tore down every single shield, every restraint and discipline he had ever build up through the years of endless training and meditation.

Somehow, somehow, but he doesn't remember how, he managed to keep the azure blade away from the murderer's throat. Something made him turn away and back out from this cold, triumphal face he hates now more than anything else.

But one wrong word, the slightest hint of a spiteful smile on the disguising, grey lips shattered even this last bit of discipline.

Angrier than a civilian being can ever be, driven by the most primitive, brutal instincts in order toprotect, to_ defend_ what had finally never been his he lashed out. And again and again and again. The weapon lying useless in the dust to their feet he struck and struck and struck again, senselessly into that now so deliciously vulnerable heap of the most despicable kind of _creature_ that has ever had the misfortune to be born in this galaxy. Not to kill him. Not with a weapon. Just to inflict as much damage as he could with his fists.

All he wanted to achieve was pain. He wanted to be the cause for his pain. He wanted to release all his anger an this being, all the hatred, wanted the murderer feeling what he has exposed him to. All the agony, all the emptiness inside.

And relief. He was crying for relief, needed it so badly.

But no relief can be achieved by revenge and so none of it has become any easier to bear afterwards.

Surely, the hunter would be dead, if not for Anakin who thoughtfully grabbed the kicking and twisting form, held him and pulled him away from the bleeding frame.

Obi-Wan Kenobi has not spoken a word since then.

He isn't planning on ever using his voice again, either.

And now he lies in between the heavy blankets,unresponsive, yet clutched tightly to his Padawans chest and screams into the night.

Screams for everything that has been taken from him. Screams for the woman he has loved so much. Screams for Siri. Cries and weeps for her.

_There is no death, there is only the force._

Oh, how badly he wants to believe it, how he _needs_ to know it. But this knowledge is useless now, because it cannot offer any comfort to the grieving mind. It cannot ease the sorrow that washes over him with ever breath he draws. It's much too vague, too insecure.

Who knows what is behind this? The force is everything and nothing, it is light and dark, joy and suffering. Where are the deceased in this phenomenon? He _is_ a Jedi, he _believes_ in the force, no, he doesn't believe in it, he _knows_. He knows, because he can feel it. They all can.

But he still fears for her soul.

And it doesn't change anything of the fact, that she is unreachable for him now, that she's been violently ripped off his life. She's gone.

And like so many years ago, when his master died, he can't find soothing in the force.

The code offers no comfort.

He silently begs for her to hear him now.

Nobody answers to his pleads. Nobody is there to ease the pain and treat the wound in his head where a strong mental bond has existed. Nobody can reach him where he is now.

Nobody can help him.

He's alone. Alone.

And he drowns. The anxious and helpless Padawan cannot pull him out of this waters. He gets devoured from inside out.

Anakin is powerless in this.

Almost.

There's something left he can do, though.

He can make sure that he keeps breathing. He can help him breath until the painful pressure on his lungs vanishes to a dull throbbing and the burst heart itself can beat again. He can free him of the guilt of the survivors. He can show him how to survive. He is his anchor now. And the master has to hold on tightly on his Padawan to reach the surface again. He can let him mourn, but prevent him from suffocating.

But when the fatal message impacts on his ears the next morning, the last pieces shatter.

He lets go of Anakins outstretched hand and refuses the offered hold.

He has no wish to recover from the blow anymore. He can't even cry anymore, the tears deny him any relief.

Because what he hears from the healers then is the final push that sends him flying into the abyss. What he hears doesn't deaf his ears but his heart. It's become stone, icy stone. Nothing more.

What he hears is simply too much for him. Three words. Three words that seem to seal his fate. He condemns life for inventing that words. He condemns live for everything.

_She was pregnant. _

There's no more life left for him to feel. He's just been left behind to cry.


End file.
